


i’m fine

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Coruscant (Star Wars), Coruscant Guard, Exhaustion, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23061139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Fox is fine. He always is.It doesn’t matter that his hands shake, that his head is splitting, or that his chest aches with the realization that he’s a monster.He deserves it, after all.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox and CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 32
Kudos: 275





	i’m fine

Fox isn’t trusted by the others.

Which is fine, really, it is.

But he can’t help but feel a pang in his chest whenever he sees  _ vod  _ interacting, or sees two troopers hug or clasp forearms. It’s something he’ll never have.

Because he has been hand chosen by the Chancellor himself, picked because of his physical prowess and his heroic acts at the battle of Geonosis. Many people would  _ kill  _ to be in his position.

So why is he so unhappy?

For one, Fox wants to  _fight_. 

He was made for it. He can feel it in his bones, this overwhelming need to prove himself, to kill, and it doesn’t lessen over time. It only grows.

( _But it’s fine, really, it is._ )

* * *

He sets the blaster to stun.

He knows he does, because he  _ checks  _ it and  _ rechecks  _ it, at least a million times, not willing to mess up, to be a failure, to disappoint the Chancellor.

He and his men enter quietly, and he can hear Fives talking, can hear the desperation in his voice. Fox draws his pistol, aims, and then Fives reaches for his own gun.

A jolt of adrenaline shoots through him, and he’s pulling the trigger before he can even realize what he’s doing.

And then Fives is dead, a tendril of smoke curling seductively through the air as his body falls. Rex cries out.

Fox can’t move. _Can’t_ _ breathe. _

This is all wrong. Fives wasn’t supposed to die. He was supposed to be asleep,  _ unconscious_, he’d  set the _karking gun_ to stun!

Hound places a hand on his arm, pulling, trying to get him to move out of the way, but all he can see is the blood slowly starting to seep out of the hole in Fives’ chest. 

A clean shot. Straight through the heart.

_I’m sorry_.

And then Rex is in front of him, his eyes fiery, a tear sliding down his cheek. “ _Kriff _ you! You son of a-“

Skywalker pulls Rex back, looking just as angry as his captain, shooting Fox a dirty look. It’s enough to jar him from his stupor.

“I- I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and  _ fierfek, his hands are shaking.  _ “I didn’t mean to, I  _swear_ ,  Rex-“

But Rex bares his teeth in a snarl, _so_ _ un-Rex like  _ that it makes Fox blink and lean back, anything to distance himself from the weight of his failure. “Save it,  _ di’kut._” Rex is free from Skywalker now, and he advances on Fox, making the commander hit the wall with a painfully loud gasp. Rex’s fists are clenched, and Fox shuts his eyes tight, anticipating a punch, a hit,  _ it’s nothing he hasn’t gotten from his vod before,  _ but instead, what Rex does next hurts worse.

“ _You _ should be the one dying on the front line, you and your  _ entitled Coruscant scum_.” There’s a pause, and Fox opens his eyes slowly, his chest shuddering on an inhale at how  _ close  _ Rex is, how angry he is, the way his eyes are full of hatred and rage. “That’s the first action you’ve gotten in  _months_ ,  isn’t it?” It’s a mockery, a sneer, and Fox  _ wants  _ to defend himself, wants to justify his actions, because he does  so _much more_ than just standing around and ‘guarding’, but then Rex is stalking away from him, his form tense and angry. 

“Rex-“

Rex turns, striding back over in powerful strides to tower over him, and it makes Fox tense all over again. “ _Don’t _ talk to me.”

The next time he turns away, he doesn’t look back, but his departing words stick with Fox long after he’s gone.

_ “You’re  _ _dead to me_. ”

_(And he’s- he’ll be fine, he always is.)_

* * *

His heart aches, and he’s  _ so  _ tired, and he forces himself to take his armor off before collapsing onto his cot.

Fox’s hands haven’t stopped their incessant trembling, and he stares down at them in disgust, tears welling but refusing to fall from his eyes. 

_ “You’re dead to me.” _

Rex was- They had been friends, once upon a time. They’d trained together, had grown up together. But after Geonosis, Fox had been reassigned. 

_To Coruscant_.

At first he’d been ecstatic. The Chancellor wanted  _ him_, had chosen him out of multiple men, but he quickly learned that being the Chancellor’s chosen was no laughing matter.

While his brothers are stopping Separatists and catching Sith warlords, he’s hunting down Coruscant’s worst, breaking up drug rings, protecting the senators from anyone or anything that could mean even the smallest bit of harm.

It’s seen as the  _ easy  _ job. 

It’s not. 

It’s stressful, and tiring, and dangerous, and there’s no leave, no quiet time, no bonding with brothers. It’s work. 

It’s slavery. 

He stares up at the white ceiling above him, hears a senator laughing somewhere below him, and closes his eyes with a frustrated noise.

He’s fine. He doesn’t need brothers, doesn’t need anyone to like him. He just needs to do what the Chancellor says, needs to keep doing his job.

He’s Commander Fox.

_ (He’s... not fine. He’s the farthest from fine, but... but he can change that. He can be better. He  will  get better.) _

* * *

Weeks go by.

He’s lonely. 

This terrible, chest aching feeling that won’t leave him alone, and he misses Thorn more than ever.

The lower levels of Coruscant had been growing increasingly more violent, and almost every day, _every_ _ few hours_ _,_ someone was calling in about one incidentor another.

Fox ignores them.

Because no matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring himself to move.

His limbs feel weighted, stuck, and he doesn’t even have the energy to  _ attempt  _ to lift them, so he just lays there, shivering on his too small cot with his eyes closed, trying to imagine himself anywhere but here.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, only knows that when someone bangs on his door, he merely opens his eyes, blinks up at the bland ceiling above him, and then closes them once more.

_ I’m so tired...  _

The banging continues, and he thinks he hears the person saying something, but he’s too exhausted to care. 

The door opens.

Fox stays very still, listening, waiting for the harsh voice thats more than likely to follow, telling him to  _ get up  _ and to  _ be better.  _

“Fox?”

_Oh_. 

It’s Wolffe, his voice hesitant, soft, full of concern and something else he can’t quite decipher, and he opens his eyes on instinct. He takes a deep breath, takes another one, willing himself to talk, to respond, but all that he manages is a small, weak noise in the back of his throat. 

Then there’s a hand at his forehead, cool and refreshing and Fox bites back a moan at the heavenly feeling.

“ _ Kark _ , you’re burning up.”

And that... makes sense, because that explains how tired he is, how exhausted, how heavy his limbs feel, but it still doesn’t explain the ache in his heart. 

“I’m going to take you to the medbay, okay?”

As soon as the words leave his lips, Fox panics.

Medbays were  _ bad_, for the weak, for the  _ useless  _ and Fox couldn’t be seen there, couldn’t go there, because he knew the 501st had a medic who helped out there, and he would be  _ angry  _ and he would  _ hurt  _ Fox and he can’t-

“Easy,  _ udessi,  Fox’ika_ _,_ you’re okay, just breathe.”

Fox let’s out a gasp, somewhere between a strangled keen and a wounded moan, and he flinched when Wolffe’s hands slide under him, behind his knees and behind his back, before  _ lifting_, and the dizziness that follows is overwhelming, so much that he has to tuck his face into Wolffe’s neck and  _ breathe, nice and steady, calm down. _

He isn’t aware that they make it to the medbay until Wolffe talks. “Just found him like this. He’s burning up, pretty out of it, acted sort of...” Wolffe trails off, and Fox frowns against his skin, pressing in tighter when he feels the arms around him start to loosen, because _he_ _doesn’t want to leave Wolffe, Wolffe is safe._ “Detached.”

There’s a hum from somewhere beyond, and it makes Fox jump, wrapping his arms around Wolffe’s neck because Wolffe is  _ lowering him down and no no no he wants to stay with him, please don’t leave him, not like the others did, not like  _ Thorn  _ did-_

But Wolffe lowers him anyway, until Fox is set onto something hard and cold, and his arms are gently pulled from Wolffe’s neck and panic, sharp and raw explodes within him. “Please, please don’t, don’t leave me, please, I-I’m sorry, please, I don’t- I didn’t- p-please, stay with me,  _ stay with me_.” He knows he’s babbling, knows he probably looks crazy, but he  _ wants  _ so badly, wants someone to hold him and _ be there  _ and nobody has ever done that for him, ever. 

_ Please... I don’t want to be alone... _

“Fox,” Someone is next to him now, pushing him until he’s laying back and it’s  _ cold, it’s so cold, why is it cold?  _ “You need to calm down. Listen to me-“

He doesn’t, instead he swivels his head, catches sight of Wolffe watching a little ways off, lets out a broken noise, feels tears flood his eyes because  _ Wolffe isn’t even  trying  to get to him, and he’s so tired, so lonely, he wants he wants he  wants-_

“I need you to take a deep breath.”

He lets out a small, hiccuped sob instead.

“Fox, you  _have_ to  calm down, you’re working yourself up.”

He doesn’t know who the voice belongs to, doesn’t really care, because all he can see is himself, all alone and  _ scared  _ and Wolffe is just watching, a frown on his face and a sad, agonized look slowly starting to take over. 

Whatever they set him on is cold, and it’s seeping through his armor, into his blacks, and onto his skin, making him shiver. 

“ _Fox._ ” Someone growls, their voice hard and commanding, a superiors voice, even if it sounds suspiciously like Wolffe’s, and Fox stiffens, his breath catching.  _ Superior, listen listen listen don’t get in trouble listen listen listen obey obey obey follow orders- _ “Calm  _ down_, now.”

A sob is still stuck in his throat, but he swallows it down, swallows down the noises he so desperately wants to let out, holds his breath, because the  _ last time someone had told him to calm down they had  hurt  him, and he can’t be hurt again, he has to protect himself, he had to- _

_ ” _ _ Shit, _breathe, Fox.”

“Just  _ sedate  _ him, he’s having a panic attack.”

“Sedating him now will only delay the inevitable. He could wake up just as panicked.”

“That’s a risk we have to take. Just  _ do it._”

Something pricks his neck, but Fox is a good soldier, and he doesn’t make a noise, just bites his lip and stares up at the harsh lights above as hot tears slip down his cheeks, a shudder passing over him. 

_ Please... don’t leave me. _

* * *

He remembers the day Thorn left him. His best friend, his one saving grace, with his outgoing demeanor and his kind smile, the way the corner of his eyes would wrinkle when he laughed.

_ “I won’t be gone long_ _._ ” He’d promised, laughing when Fox frowned further.  _ “Relax, vod. When have I ever let you down?” _

And Fox- Fox can’t remember what he said, if he said he loved him, if he told him to be safe, if he’d rolled his eyes and joked about missing the shuttle, he  _ can’t remember  _ and it makes his chest  burn with agony.

As it were, he wakes up more graceful than he’d gone under, calm, collected,  _commander_.  He’s a Commander. Not a shiny.

_ Act like it. _

Wolffe glances up at him from where he’s sitting, his eyes tired, sad, and it should make Fox feel guilty, should make him want to comfort him, but instead he feels nothing. 

“Are you okay?” Wolffe asks, his voice uncharacteristically soft and hesitant. 

Fox averts his gaze, looks down at his hands, which are still and firm now. He doesn’t answer, instead becoming suspicious. 

Yes, he and Wolffe were...  _ close _ , but every clone within the GAR was ticked at Fox right now,  _ hells_, some of his own men were, so why wasn’t Wolffe? “Do you-“ His voice cracked painfully and he paused, swallowed harshly around the lump in his throat before continuing. “Do you know? What I’ve done?”

Now  _ Wolffe _ looks away. “Yes,” Comes the simple response, said so utterly toneless that it makes Fox angry. He  deserves  to be yelled at, to be hated, because  _fuck_ ,  he hates  _himself_ , so _why doesn’t Wolffe?_

Fox laughs, a short, ugly sound, and Wolffe flinches. “Then why are you here?”

Wolffe’s eyes burn into his own. “You were following orders. It’s not your fault.”

“Like hell it isn’t.” Fox snarls, and  _shit_ ,  he’s starting to cry, and he swore to himself he wouldn’t cry, not again, but then again he’s  _ always breaking promises, isn’t he? _ “I wasn’t ordered to kill him. I was ordered to... to...” He struggles to think of what was said, what the Chancellor had told him.

_“Use whatever force necessary,” The Chancellor had crowed, his eyes shining with something as his gaze landed on Fox’s pistols. He’d waved a wrinkled hand casually. “For the safety of Skywalker, of course.”_

The Chancellor hadn’t even mentioned  Rex, he thinks absentmindedly, and he feels a pang at his squad-mates name. “I was ordered to  _apprehend him_.” Fox shakes his head, let’s out a softer, more pained laugh. “Instead I shot him. Through the fucking  _heart_. What kind of  _brother_ does  _that_?” It comes out wet, broken, spat like the curse it is, and Wolffe is watching him intently, analyzing, calculating, and Fox can feel the migraine he’d so stubbornly pushed down starting to resurface.

“I know you,” Wolffe insists after a beat of silence, and his voice is still so light, so soft, so  _kind_ , and Fox wants to scream. “And I know you would never willingly kill a  _vod_.”

Their eyes meet, hold, a silent battle of wills initiating almost instantly, and Fox breaks first, tearing his gaze away to stare down at his hands. “I just- I feel so...”

_ Useless. Weak. Scared. Hurt. Bitter. Angry.Exhausted. Numb. Broken. Unwanted. Used. Hated. Inferior.  **Unloved.** _

“Tired.” He finally decides on, because any of the others would reveal him too much, would allow Wolffe a glimpse of the person he’s become, the brother who kills, the brother who is  _stained_.

Wolffe stands, all power and intimidation, yet so graceful and smooth, and Fox blinks, almost fearing he’s run the other clone off, even if his heart whispers,  _ Let him go, don’t hurt him like you hurt the others.  _

Then Wolffe is slowly, carefully climbing into the cot with him, a little awkwardly at first, and Fox tenses as he presses impossibly close, wrapping his arms around Fox’s waist and  _tugging_ until they’re practically touching, Fox’s nose almost brushing against his chest. “Then sleep,  _Fox’ika_.” 

Fox doesn’t comment on the nickname, doesn’t scold him about them being adults now, about needing to be professional, and instead he tucks his face into the crook where shoulder met neck, inhaling the scent that was uniquely  _Wolffe_ , trying to memorize the scent- _because this is probably the last time Wolffe will ever show him this kind of vulnerability. Especially after what he’s done, the blood on his hands-_ trying to relax even as his muscles tensed at the hand sweeping across his side in soothing strokes. 

But he does sleep, eventually. And  _ maybe  _ Rex hates him, and  _ maybe  _ he’s doomed to live the rest of his life with nobody but Wolffe to lean on, but he’s okay with that. He is. Because Fox understands, he does. He wouldn’t want to waste the effort on himself either.

_(But he’ll be fine, he will, he always is, always has to be. He’s fine.)_

**Author's Note:**

> just one of the many scraps i have in my notes ;) have an amazing day lovelies <3


End file.
